


I Don't Wanna Have To Go Where You Don't Follow

by aniloquent



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, anniversary au, both of them are lame and old and still in love, steve is a big crybaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:03:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniloquent/pseuds/aniloquent
Summary: Steve’s voice cracks and he frowns miserably. “I ruined your gift. I’m sorry.”Bucky blinks at him slowly, then shakes the box to test Steve’s theory. Sure enough, pieces of what Bucky assumes is broken glass clink around. He looks back at Steve, who somehow has gone even more red in the face.“Sorry,” he says again.Bucky snorts before he can stop himself.-Prompt: we’ve been celebrating our anniversary on the wrong date for the past nine years





	I Don't Wanna Have To Go Where You Don't Follow

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while! i'm sorry and I'm a fucking mess, school is kicking my ass. Enjoy this little thing I typed up while I work on the OTHER beast, Make the Body Wait for It (which you should definitely go read and subscribe to - I promise there's an update coming soon)
> 
> (Also the title is too dramatic for a fic this ridiculous)

 

February twenty-fifth.

“Happy anniversary!” Sam calls as Steve enters the teachers’ lounge. He smiles gratefully and grabs his coffee mug.

“Thanks, Wilson,” he says, and internally cheers at the still-hot pot on the counter. It’s the little victories in life that make it worth it.

Steve can see Bucky fake gagging in his head.

“It’s your anniversary?” Peter, a first-year mathematics teacher, asks. Steve turns to find the younger man looking at him with the smallest hint of disappointment. Steve wants to snort, but he doesn’t. It would only embarrass Peter further.

“Yep,” he says happily. Peter’s shoulders slouch the slightest fraction, but Steve can’t help it. He’s so excited. “Ten years today.”

Peter’s eyes widen comically. “Ten years? Married? That’s such a long time! I was at least twelve when you married your wife.”

Wife? Steve frowns, but Sam cuts in before he can correct Peter. “Yeah, Steve’s quite the old man. What are you even getting, anyway? Other than the obvious you know.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I got a really nice pewter plate with our anniversary on it because we’re old and that’s what old couples do. It’s really classy and shit, I went all out on it.”

Sam smiles. “That’s cheesy.”

Steve nods. “He’ll complain, but I know Bucky’s a huge sap. He’ll love it.”

Peter chokes. “I had no clue- I’m sorry for assuming-”

Sam is clutching his sides and wheezing, and Steve holds up a hand to stop Peter from rambling out an awkward apology. “It’s fine, Parker,” he can’t help chuckle. “You’re not the first one, and you probably sure as hell won’t be the last.”

-

“February twenty-fifth? What’s that mean?”

Bucky turns away from his computer to find Clint hovering over his shoulder, staring hard at his screen. He opens his mouth to answer, but Natasha beats him to it.

“It’s his anniversary with Steve.”

Clint audibly gasps and clutches his hands to his chest dramatically. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“What are you giving him?”

“It’s an old person gift, if I’m honest,” Bucky offers a shy smile over his shoulder as he feels Natasha come behind him to look at his computer screen. “But I got him this big beautiful frame for our marriage certificate,” he says, feeling his face heat up.

Clint “aww”s at the same time Natasha scoffs.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Tash.”

She punches his shoulder jokingly, and Bucky bears his teeth in what he hopes is a playful grin. His shoulder is throbbing. Her little hands hurt. “I’m proud of you, James.” Her lips quirk up into a blood red smile, and her eyes shine with sisterly affection. “This is such a thoughtful, adult gift. Steve’s gonna love it.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Yeah, I hope so,” he says, looking over the gift on his computer screen once again. “My only back-up plan is dick.”

Clint guffaws, and Nat slaps his arm.

-

“ _ Sweet sweet fantasy baby… _ ” Steve hums, leaning across his bathroom counter to shave the last bit of stubble off of his face. He rinses and checks his watch. He grins. Bucky’s present should be here any minute.

Just as he’s toweling off, he hears three knocks on the front door. “Coming!” he calls, and makes a beeline for the front door.

He finds a girl holding his package under her arm, looking down at a clipboard. She doesn’t look up as he answers the door.

“Barnes?” She asks boredly.

“That’s me,” Steve says brightly.

“Great,” she sighs, and hands Steve the package. “Could you sign here… oh.” She looks up and Steve… and down… and up again.  

Steve thanks her and takes the package. She doesn’t even seem to notice him take the clipboard from her, sign it, and hand it back to her.

“It looks lonely in this big old townhouse,” She smiles cutely, and Steve holds back a snort as to not embarrass her. “You look like you could use some…” Her eyes rake down his body and  _ seriously _ , she has to be twenty at the  _ most _ . She could be his kid. Steve’s going to faint. “Company.”

He blinks. “I’ll have to ask my husband.”

The teen’s face drops, and she opens her mouth to correct herself. “Sir- oh my god- I’m so sorry! I had no clue.”

Steve’s shoulders shake with laughter, and he has to lean against the door for support. “Don’t worry, kid,” he says, and she frowns at the pet name. “It happens. But be a little bit more careful, alright? There are some sickos out here.”

She nods vigorously, still looking completely mortified, when Steve tips her, bids her goodbye, and closes the door. Absentmindedly, he thinks of how cute she would look with someone like Peter.

“Definitely not my gay ass, that’s for damn sure,” he mutters, and takes the pewter plate out of the box to get a look at it.

Although it’s going back in the box before Bucky gets home, Steve still wants to get a good look at it. He sets up the stand and carefully places the glass plate on it, smiling at the careful, delicate swirls of writing around their name and aniive

He hums happily to himself, near skipping to the kitchen, and barely notices what happens next. 

Steve’s hip catches on the edge of the table, the damn table with a bad leg and a troubling wobble-

And he freezes as he hears the glass hit the floor behind him. 

-

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky snaps, angrily pushing the door to the framing place open. A teenage girl looks up boredly.

“Sir, please, calm down,” she sighs, but Bucky doesn’t let her finish. He all but slams the large frame down on the counter, and the girl sighs.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down? Today is my tenth anniversary with my husband, and I’m paying someone a large amount of money for this damn present!” Bucky jabs an angry finger at the date engraved in gold on the bottom of the obsidian frame. “How hard is it to get this fucking right?”

She pops her gum, and Bucky clenches his fists. “We simply followed the date on the marriage certificate, sir. 

Bucky rereads the marriage certificate eight more times, and yes, the date is a day ahead of today. February twenty-sixth, not twenty-fifth.

Not the twenty-fifth that Steve and Bucky had been celebrating for nine, now ten, years.

He leaves the store sheepishly, apologizing profusely and sliding the kid a large tip for dealing with his outburst. Once he steps out onto the street, he curses as loud as he can in Russian.

Shit.

-

_ Fucking  _ shit.

Steve doesn’t know how much time has passed as he stares numbly at the shattered pewter plate. Mariah is still playing in the living room.

“I'm so fucked,” he breathes as he looks down at the shattered mess pricking his toes. 

-

Bucky’s so fucked, he thinks as he dials Natasha and speed walks through the subway station. 

“Natasha,” he says, swiping his card and nearly sprinting to his stop. He doesn’t give her a chance to even say hi before he starts venting.

“I fucked up,” Bucky says, running his free hand through his hair.

“Like cheated fucked up? Or screwed up this month’s reports fucked up?”

Bucky groans. “Hell no, and no. Something in between that I guess?”

Natasha pauses. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”

Bucky launches into the story at full speed, and he can’t tell if he’s speaking Russian or English anymore. He tries not to gesture too wildly as to not disturb his fellow passengers, but it’s getting harder as he relays the f _ ucking ridiculous _ events of his fucking anniversary.

“James,” Natasha says. Bucky grits his teeth. He can tell she’s smiling. “You can’t be serious.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Natasha barely holds back her laughter. “Are you telling me that you’ve been celebrating your anniversary on the wrong date for ten years?”

“Nine,” He corrects, standing to give his seat to a pregnant woman and her toddler. She flashes him a grateful smile as she takes a seat. Bucky nods his head and waves at the giggly little girl leaning on her mother’s legs. She peeks at him through a huge afro and waves back. “I guess we can start doing it correctly this year.” Natasha laughs again and Bucky launches into a long line of Russian curse words that would make even his KGB grandfather blush.

-

On either side of their apartment front door, Bucky and Steve wince as Bucky turns his keys in the locks. Steve wipes at his eyes quickly to make sure that he doesn't look as if he's been crying for the past fifteen minutes. Bucky runs a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it out and erase any traces of the stressed tugging on the ride home. 

Steve plasters a painfully tight smile to his face. “Hi,” he says, and presses his mouth to Bucky’s before his husband can ask about the weird look.

Bucky frowns against his lips for a minute before kissing him back. He bites at Steve’s lip teasingly before pulling away. 

“Hey.” Bucky grins at Steve easily, watching his cheeks flush pink and his eyes get wider like they've been doing for ten years. “Did you cook dinner? What's the occasion?”

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Bucky away, starting towards the kitchen. Bucky drops his bag and follows him dutifully. “You're hilarious, Barnes,” he says flatly, and grabs plates while Bucky grabs silverware. “You should really do stand up, you know?”

Bucky clutches his hand to his chest dramatically. Steve barely casts him a glance as he ladles sauce and pasta into two dinner plates, but the blond snorts anyway. “Is that any way to treat your lawfully wedded? I ask you a simple question and you wage war against me with your biting satire!” Bucky sobs into his hand loudly, blindly grabbing for the wine bottle on the counter, and Steve huffs as he pushes past him to the dining room.

“Fucking theater kids,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his face anyway.

Bucky makes an incredulous noise as he pulls Steve’s seat out for him. He sets the bottle down gently before plopping into his own chair. He narrows his eyes at Steve, who watches him boredly as he twirls spaghetti around a fork. 

“The theater is the only reason I came out to you, Steven,” Bucky says, pointing his own fork at Steve menacingly. 

Steve shovels a large helping of pasta into his mouth because Bucky is married to a literal fucking  _ bear, oh my god Steve how many times do I have to tell you to slow the fuck down when you eat so you don’t choke to death and leave me with your shitty life insurance? _ He shrugs. “I already knew.”

Bucky scoffs. “As fucking if,” he argues. He takes a moment to taste the food, compliment his husband on his cooking, and then return to the flirty bickering that’s become second nature to them. “I was fantastic at pretending to be straight.”

Steve looks at him doubtfully. “You had Whitney Houston’s entire discography memorized word-for-word.”

Bucky gapes at him. “That’s- I- you shouldn't stereotype-” he sighs and stabs at a meatball because Steve is completely  _ right _ , the asshole. “I Have Nothing is a classic, Steve. I’ve told you this. Her-”

“Vocals are unparallelled, and they’ll stay that way for the next forty years with the way the shitty music industry pumps out tons of electric garbage every year,” Steve finishes, not breaking stride in eating his meal.

Bucky’s heart melts. This is the man he married.

(They’ve had this discussion before.)

(If before means several times.)

(And if several times means twice a week.)

(And five times in a row if they’re drunk.)

(And it may have come up at their wedding reception.)

“Exactly. But still, the theater made me confident in who I was and taught me that the most challenging, most satisfying role to play was yourself.” Steve fakes retching. Bucky throws him a middle finger. “Well, that and kissing Cindy Cardenas really put everything in perspective.” Steve laughs, and Bucky can’t help the accomplished beam that spreads across his face.

Marriage is fun.

Then, because Bucky is an impulsive idiot, he fucks things up.

Royally.

They’re quiet for a few comfortable minutes, enjoying the meal, the occasion, and each other. “Well, I certainly hope your gift is better than mine,” Bucky says before he can stop himself. Steve coughs and shakily reaches for his glass of wine. “I only got you my dick and crappy table conversation.”

Steve freezes completely. Bucky gulps.

They eye each other carefully, and Bucky’s never felt so disconnected from his spouse.

“Presents,” Steve squeaks, and it would be funny that someone his size could make that noise if Bucky didn’t know he was about to seriously disappoint the most important person in his life. “Right.”

Steve pushes the remaining food around his plate, and Bucky frowns. Something’s up.

“Steve-” he starts, but the blond just shakes his head.

“Let’s finish dinner first, yeah? And then we can worry about the shitty gift you probably got me.”

Bucky tries not to wince. If only he knew. “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he downs nearly all his wine in one gulp, and Steve frowns at him. Bucky avoids eye contact and stabs through more vegetables.

They finish dinner in silence. 

Steve offers to take Bucky’s plate into the kitchen before he’s even put his fork down after the last bite. Bucky thanks him and watches him go into the kitchen. He puts his head in his hands and sighs for what feels like an eternity.

When Bucky’s finally done feeling sorry for himself, he stands to go to the living room for a gift exchange and ends up with a very eager Steve pressed up against him.

“Steve,” Bucky laughs against his lips. Steve takes it as an opening to lick into his mouth, and Bucky groans. Almost instinctively, Steve grinds his hips into Bucky’s, relishing in the breathy gasp he lets out. Steve knows what he likes; they’ve been together for nearly fifteen years. He knows that, although it doesn’t happen often, Bucky likes when Steve takes control. He likes when Steve gets rough with him, and Steve likes it when Bucky submits to him. It’s working for both of them.

Steve ignores the part of his brain that scolds him for using sex to distract the love of his life from looking at his shitty, completely ruined anniversary present. 

He feels Bucky’s hand push against his chest slightly, and pulls back to watch Bucky’s face.

“Easy, tiger,” his husband says, that same mischievous grin on his face, but his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed. “There’s plenty of time for that after presents.” Bucky kisses his cheek and mutters affectionately in Russian. Steve gulps. “Though I do appreciate your enthusiasm, kitten. Really. I come home to a nice dinner, presents, and ‘thanks for having such a nice dick’ sex? I have the best husband ever.”

Steve has to be the worst husband ever.

He watches Bucky move from the kitchen to the living room hopelessly, plopping onto the couch to wait for Steve.

-

Bucky can’t take his eyes off of the package that Steve has reluctantly thrusted into his hands. 

“Thanks, kitten,” he mutters. He can’t even bring himself to look Steve in the eye, doesn’t even register the lack of response from him. Bucky’s too busy feeling like complete shit.

Bucky loves Steve so much. He loves how he sings loudly and offkey in the shower, how he won’t let Bucky kiss him in the mornings until he’s brushed his teeth and gone through two cycles of mouthwash (“Steve, I’ve literally eaten your ass! I can handle a little bit of morning breath.” “James Buchanan, stop being rude. You don’t know how bad this shit gets.”), how he always shoves his cold feet underneath Bucky’s thighs when they watch movies, how he still blushes during sex, and how he  _ unconditionally _ loves Bucky for who he is, fuck-ups and all.

The worst part about all this is that Steve probably won’t be as upset about this as he should be. Steve is forgiving and loving and understanding and perfect in all the ways Bucky isn’t.

He’s in the middle of running through about eight bad ideas on how to get out of giving Steve his shitty present when he hears a teary sniffle next to him.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky looks up to find his husband in tears.

“What wrong, kitten? Why are you crying?”

“I fucked up. Badly.” Steve hiccups wetly, and Bucky grabs his hand and squeezes it. Steve’s a giant baby, but he’s  _ Bucky’s _ baby. “I dropped your present - it was a beautiful pewter plate - Sharon recommended the website - Mariah was on and I was dancing - it had our anniversary on it and everything - February twenty-fifth - and I nearly cut my foot open twice trying to clean it up and -” Steve’s voice cracks and he frowns miserably. “I ruined your gift. I’m sorry.”

Bucky blinks at him slowly, then shakes the box to test Steve’s theory. Sure enough, pieces of what Bucky assumes is broken glass clink around. He looks back at Steve, who somehow has gone even more red in the face. 

“Sorry,” he says again.

Bucky snorts before he can stop himself. 

Steve is still crying, and Bucky has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop from guffawing at the absurdity of the entire situation. Steve broke his anniversary gift, but it didn’t matter anyway because the date was wrong.

Steve is glaring through his tears at Bucky, mouth pursed like he’s about to rip Bucky a new one. Before he can say anything though, Bucky lunges across the couch to grab Steve’s face in both hands. He peppered kisses across his forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips, tasting Steve’s salty tears along the way. He smacks a particularly loud kiss on Steve’s cheek, and the blond groans. Bucky can’t help but start laughing again. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, kissing him even more. Steve isn’t even fighting him, he’s just pouting and letting Bucky attack his face. “My love, light of my life, father of my future children,” Steve lets out a noncommittal grunt at that last one, and Bucky laughs again. “Please stop crying. It’s okay.”

Steve frowns and looks up to where Bucky has started straddling him. His eyes are wet and wide, his eyelashes are sticking together, and his nose has turned bright red. There’s nearly snot dripping onto his upper lip. 

Bucky bites down a grin. He looks beautiful. 

“No, it’s not! This is a huge milestone and I fucked everything up because I ruined your present, and you’re laughing because you’re gonna leave me for someone half my age with a fatter ass, and I can’t even fucking do anything right!”

Bucky sighs and reaches behind him to reach for his own present. “Here, kitten,” he says noncommittally, not having to look at Steve to know the effect his husband’s favorite pet name has on him. He feels Steve relax instantly. “This is for you. This will explain everything.”

Steve sits up and dumps Bucky into the couch, taking the package from his hands as Bucky himself goes tumbling into a cushion. 

“Fucking dick,” he mutters, and snatches it anyway. He opens it and slides the glass out of the packaging carefully. Bucky rolls his eyes to the ceiling when Steve’s bottom lip starts to tremble. Lord have mercy. “Oh, Buck,” he whines, and hugs the glass to his chest. He lets out another sob when he sees the framed marriage certificate, too. “It’s beautiful.”

Bucky sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, babe,” he says. “It’s wrong.”

Steve frowns at him. “What?”

Bucky motions to the marriage certificate. February twenty-sixth. 

“So,” Steve’s voice is small as he reads over the marriage certificate again and again. “We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary a day early since 2007?” Bucky nods, rubbing Steve’s back.

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky would die for him.

“Yeah. So please stop crying, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a miscommunication.”

“For ten years,” Steve adds.

“For ten years,” Bucky agrees. He places a hand on Steve’s jaw and swipes a thumb over his right cheekbone to get rid of the remaining tears. “Don’t feel bad, honey. Please.” Steve wipes at his eyes. “Besides, have you seen your ass? Could bounce a quarter off of it. ‘S gonna be hard to come by another ass like that for a while.”

Steve pulls Bucky into a crushing hug. “I love you.”

Bucky feels his cheeks heat up, and he’s not sure why. Steve tells him that at least five times a day. “I love you too. Even if we’ve gotten the date wrong since flip phones were a thing.” 

Steve snorts and arranges them so that Bucky’s head is resting in his lap. He reclines into the couch, feeling a lot less tense than he had ten minutes before. He wasn’t an awful husband. Bucky wasn’t an awful husband. They had just been celebrating their date on the wrong day for the past nine - now ten - years. Normal couple things. Moving forward together.

Yeah.

Steve is combing his hands through Bucky’s hair, tugging on it occasionally just to get a response. 

“Baby,” Bucky says. 

“Mm,” Steve grunts back. 

Bucky adjusts his body so that his mouth is pressed up against Steve’s abdomen. He presses his lips to the fabric there.

Steve’s stomach tightens. Bucky snorts. 

“I know you just cried your poor little heart out and all,” he says. Steve huffs and tugs harder. Bucky keens. “But I’m still in the mood if you are.”

Steve sighs from above him. “You’re a pig, you know that?” Bucky makes a noncommittal sound and starts lifting up Steve’s shirt. The blond bats him away with a small amount of chiding, but the way he’s looking at Bucky tells him something else. “Bedroom. Five minutes.”

Bucky’s there in four.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, yeah. Come yell at me on frank-ozone.tumblr.com


End file.
